A very pregnant Cricket sat in a chair beside Rip’s bed while Bay perched on the edge of the mattress holding his hand. Their husbands, Creed and Long Quiet, stood on the opposite side of the room while Luke leaned against the bedpost at the foot of the bed. Only Tomasita was missing from the family that surrounded Rip, and Sloan knew that was only because she was still recuperating from her fall.

“How is he?” Sloan whispered to Cricket.

“I’m not dead yet,” Rip replied irritably. “Speak up so I can hear you.”

The strength of Rip’s voice startled Sloan, yet she could see it was a struggle for him to talk.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said. “I can see for myself you’re still ornery enough to complain.”

“Come closer, girl. Bay, get out of her way so she can sit down.”

Sloan and Bay exchanged brief, chagrined smiles of understanding for Rip’s brusque dismissal of his middle daughter.

Sloan reached out a hand and brushed a stray lock of gray hair from Rip’s forehead. It was a gesture of love he would not have tolerated had he been standing on two feet.

“I’m glad to see that husband of yours has managed to keep you safe here at home since your latest escapade.”

“I’m safe, all right, but-” Sloan stopped, unwilling to bring up the antagonism over Three Oaks.

“But what?” Rip prodded.

“I don’t want to argue-”

“Then speak up, girl.”

Exasperated, Sloan said, “I was going to say that this isn’t my home anymore. You saw to that.”

Rip grunted as he exhaled. It was plain he intended to have his say and the pain be damned. “Hell, girl, what did you expect me to do when that Spaniard came hunting for his wife? Let you sit at Three Oaks and wallow in regret for the rest of your life?”

“What?”

“You heard me. I had to find some way to make you sit up and take another look at that hombre, didn’t I?”

“Don’t you dare say you disinherited me for my own good,” Sloan bit out.

“That was the gist of it.”

“Don’t try to tell me you didn’t want a living, breathing son to carry on at Three Oaks!”

Sloan held her breath as Rip grimaced in pain.

“Oh glory, girl, what I wouldn’t have given to have three sons!”

There was utter silence in the room as Rip’s three daughters absorbed that devastating statement.

Sloan watched a lone tear slip down the side of her father’s face and felt her stomach knot. She couldn’t help being born female, and she wasn’t about to apologize at this point for being a daughter instead of a son. “I wish-”

Rip cut her off with a bitter epithet, then began coughing. His face was a deathly gray by the time he managed to stop.

“Stop talking, you old fool!” Sloan cried. “Can’t you see it’s killing you?”

“If I don’t talk, I may never get a chance to say this,” he rasped. “I didn’t get the sons I wanted, but Lord knows I did the best I knew how with you three girls. Nothing turned out like I had it planned. Not for Cricket. Not for Bay. And not for you, Sloan, my eldest, my heir.”

“I am not your heir. Not anymore.”

“Oh yes. My heir.”

Sloan frowned in confusion, thinking maybe the fever from his illness had caused him to forget what he had done. “You disinherited me. You gave everything to Luke.”

Rip glared at her and said, “I’m not saying I didn’t think about it, but-”

“Think about it? I heard you myself! You offered Three Oaks to Luke.”

“Only so you’d have a chance to find out whether you wanted to stay with the Spaniard.”

Sloan stared at him in disbelief. “You’re not joking, are you? How could you-”

“Shut up a minute, girl, and listen to me!” It took him a moment to catch his breath and to come up with the energy to talk, but talk he did. “You always were hard to rein when you got the bit in your teeth. I’m telling you I never for a minute planned to take Three Oaks away from you. I wanted Luke to stay around, and I figured if he thought-”

“You lied to him, too? You never intended to give him anything-your own son?”

Rip snorted in disgust, which started another coughing fit that left Sloan so frightened she was furious with him for speaking at all. And yet what if he was right? What if he never got another chance to say the things he needed to say?

“Dear Lord, girl,” Rip said when he had recovered. “If you could hear yourself talk. Are you ranting at me because you thought I gave Three Oaks away or because I didn’t do what I threatened?”

“I’m riled because you manipulated my life. Because you didn’t respect me enough to speak plainly about what you were thinking. And because I love you, you stubborn old man, and it was tearing me apart to hate you for what you had done.”

There was a tense silence. No one moved. No one breathed. At last Rip hissed in a painful breath of air and said, “Three Oaks is yours. Always was. Always will be.”

He had not, of course, apologized. It was a tremendous concession, Sloan knew, that he had even bothered to explain himself to her. She clenched her teeth to hide the betraying quiver of her chin.

Rip’s eyes moved slowly around the room, meeting the fierce, protective gazes of his daughters’ husbands; sharing the understanding of his son, Luke; adoring Cricket, his pride and joy; approving Bay, his not-so-disappointing daughter; and respecting Sloan, his eldest, his right hand, his other self. “I’ve said my piece. Are you all going to get out of here and let me die in peace, or are you going to stand there and worry me to death?”

Sloan wasn’t conscious of Cruz’s touch at her elbow leading her from the room, wasn’t conscious of being ushered into her bedroom or of being picked up in Cruz’s arms and held in his lap in the rawhide chair beside the window. Too many thoughts held her prisoner.

She heard Cruz’s deep voice crooning to her, offering a haven, a surcease from suffering. She slid into the comforting niche he provided and hid from the anguish that threatened to overwhelm her.

It was dark by the time her thoughts released her to the world of the present. Cruz still held her in his arms, his chin resting at her temple. His fingers moved gently on her skin, caressing, reassuring. He felt solid, a rock to steady her and keep her from foundering.

“I’m hungry,” she said.

He smiled. “I am not surprised. You missed dinner and supper both. Would you like to go downstairs and see what we can find?”

He had started to help her stand when she said, “After everything that’s happened, I can hardly believe I’m heir to Three Oaks.”

She felt his whole body tense. He sat down again and pulled her back into his arms, holding her close. She could tell he was struggling with something. She reached up to smooth the lines of worry from his brow, but he jerked away from her touch. Hurt, she laced her hands tightly in her lap and waited.

He chose his words carefully when he finally spoke. “I am leaving Three Oaks tomorrow to begin rebuilding Dolorosa. I want you to come with me.”

“How can I?” she protested. “Rip is so sick! Who’ll take care of Three Oaks until he’s back on his feet? He needs me here.”

“I need you, too. Dolorosa needs you.”

Sloan tried to get up, but Cruz held her where she was. His voice was low, intense, urgent. “I love you, Cebellina. I want to make a life with you. Earlier, you spoke of love lasting forever, of nothing ever coming between us. But it seems there is something that can come between us.

“You must choose between a life at Three Oaks and a life at Dolorosa with me. I wish there were a way you could have both, but it simply is not possible.”

He paused long enough to trace the rigid line of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “If you do not come to Dolorosa with me tomorrow, I will know you have chosen Three Oaks.”

“I’m needed here now!”

“I need you with me.”

“Don’t force me to choose now, Cruz,” she warned, “or you may not like my decision.”

He stood up so suddenly she had to grab at his shoulders to keep from falling. His hand automatically circled her waist. Standing body to body, lightning flashed between them. Cruz reached up a hand and twined it in her hair. His blue eyes were hooded with need, his nostrils flared for the scent of her.

His head angled downward, and he took his time, daring her to run, daring her to stay. His mouth, when it settled on hers, was gentle, with a sweetness that made Sloan ache.